Macramé Murder

by Mollie Cox Bryan

“Sorry,” the nurse said.

  “Calm down,” Jane said. Jane? She looked rumpled and half asleep.

  “Okay, you tell me what’s going on and I’ll calm down,” Cora said. “How’s that sound?”

  Jane smiled. “Relax, okay? You’re fine now.”

  “I’m in a hospital room with tubes attached to me. It would appear I’m not fine,” Cora said.

  “Do you remember anything about last night?” Jane asked.

  Cora sorted through her foggy memories. “I remember watching Glee. My arms feeling heavy, falling asleep. . . .”

  “Is that it? What did you do last night?”

  “Well, you know, we ate dinner together,” Cora said.

  “Did you eat anything in your room?”

  “Chocolate,” Cora said. “It was left on my pillow.”

  “That must have been it. I’m calling Cashel. The police need to find the wrapper and check it out,” Jane said.

  “What? Why?”

  “You were drugged.”

  “I was?” Cora searched through an assortment of feelings and dreams. Were they not dreams? “Was someone in my room last night?” She gasped. “I thought I was dreaming!”

  “Yes, but you’re fine now, right? No need to panic,” Jane said, dialing Cashel on her cell.

  “Cashel, it was the chocolate. The trash needs to be searched for the wrapper. Maybe there are, I don’t know, prints, or something?” Jane said.

  Prints? Examining her trash? Who had been in her room? What did they want?

  “‘He’s not going to be happy if we don’t find anything, ’” she remembered someone saying. She also remembered the sound of a keyboard.

  “Hold on, Jane. Tell them to search my computer. I remember someone on my computer. God, I thought I was dreaming!” Cora said.

  Jane repeated what Cora said into the phone. “I don’t know,” she said after listening to Cashel for a moment, then turned to Cora. “Are you ready to make a statement to the police?”

  “Hell, yes,” Cora said.

  “You heard her?” Jane said, laughing. “Okay, later.”

  “I need to get this thing out of my arm and get out of here,” Cora said to the nurse.

  “You’re not quite finished yet. We need to keep rehydrating you,” she replied.

  “I feel fine,” Cora responded.

  “You’re not going anywhere yet,” Jane said. “So relax.”

  “I have so much to do. A blog post to write. The retreat party. Adrian . . .” Cora said.

  “No word yet about Adrian,” Jane said.

  Was that part of her dream as well? The part where Adrian held her, whispered to her it was going to be all right, rescued her? How did he know? The wire! He must have heard what was happening on it. She had forgotten to turn it off last night. Well, she may have remembered at some point—if she had not gotten drugged.

  “What kind of drug did they give me?” Cora asked.

  “The same one they gave Cashel—the date rape drug.”

  “Jesus,” she said. “No wonder I couldn’t move.”

  Adrian and Tom must have disappeared, once again, after hotel security and the police took over last night. She couldn’t quite remember how it went down. But what she did remember warmed her. Adrian.

  Something in her gave way. Was she starting to trust him? Were her feelings deepening? After everything she found out about him this weekend, all the half-truths, she realized they said more about her lack of trust than they did about him.

  She bit the inside of her lip.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Adrian,” she said. “I’m worried.”

  “I am, too. Where could he be?” Jane said.

  A pang of guilt moved through Cora. How could she not tell her best friend what was going on? Her moment of angst was interrupted by a couple of detectives rapping on her door. Cora recognized them.

  “Well, that was quick,” Jane said.

  “How are you feeling?” Detective Andrews said.

  “Well enough to give you a statement,” Cora said.

  “Great,” Detective Andrews said. “But we also wondered if you knew who was in your room. Could you identify them?”

  “We realize you were drugged and might not have seen them. Did you hear anything? See anything at all?”

  Cora was about to answer when Tom walked into the room.

  “Tom?” Jane said. “What you doing here?”

  “I came to see how Cora is,” he said, leaning over to hug her. “Don’t tell them anything,” he whispered.

  “What did you say?” Jane said. “What’s going on here?”

  “I just told her how well she’s looking,” Tom said, giving his million-dollar smile.

  Jane shifted her eyes toward Cora, then back to him, confused.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Cora.

  “To tell you the truth,” she said, hesitating, “I was feeling okay, but now, I’m feeling a bit woozy.”

  “Woozy? Let me find a nurse,” Jane said, walking out of the room.

  “Water?” Tom said, nodding toward the pitcher.

  “Sure,” Cora said. Two detectives were standing there, in her room, and an undercover FBI agent had just whispered in her ear. She wasn’t quite lying when she said she needed water—the situation was getting trickier by the minute.

  One of the detectives cleared his throat. “We can come back later,” he said.

  Tom handed her a glass of water and smiled back at the detective. “I think it would be for the best.”

  He was so slick and fake—but, damn, he was good. The detectives decided to take their leave.

  “My lawyer will be in touch with you,” Cora called after them.

  “What was that all about?” Jane said, entering as the detectives left the room. “What’s going on here?”

  Jane knew about Cora’s strong dislike of Tom. Of course seeing him hug her had set off her radar.

  “You’re one smart lady,” Tom said.

  “We should tell her everything,” Cora said. “Unless you want to be investigating another murder—mine.”

  Chapter 59

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “I wanted to, believe me,” Cora said.

  “So you rescued Cora last night?” Jane said to Tom.

  Tom nodded. “Yes, we were monitoring the situation.”

  “Why were people in her room?” Jane asked.

  “They think she is on to them,” he replied. “They were searching her computer files.”

  “And they found nothing,” Cora replied. “I remember hearing that. And something else . . . a man was going to be angry with them if they didn’t find anything.”

  Tom nodded. “Makes sense. One of the two guys who were just here has been behind this.”

  “You mean there was a killer in this room just now?” Jane said, in a rushed whisper.

  “No, not necessarily,” Tom said. “We think he was behind it all. He didn’t necessarily commit the murders. He may have ordered them.”

  “Like, like . . . a mafia dude?” Jane said, her eyes wide.

  “Precisely,” Tom said. “Though we don’t use that word. But there is definitely organized crime behind it all.”

  Jane’s eyes shot back and forth between Cora and Tom. “We should tell Cashel. He’s worried sick. He is Adrian’s lawyer.”

  “The less people who know, the better,” Tom said. “The more you know, the more at risk you are.”

  Cora understood, but she did think Cashel should be informed. He was haggard and blaming himself for much of what was happening. It didn’t seem right to keep Adrian’s whereabouts from him.

  “So, both Cora and Cashel were drugged,” Jane said out loud, but more to herself. “Cashel because he knew too much, or was getting too close to the truth, and Cora because the criminals suspected she knew something. Why? What did you do yesterday that would lead them to believe that?”

  Cor
a thought for a moment. “I was in the situation room a lot yesterday. I was musing a bit about who the killers could be.”

  “What names did you mention?” Jane asked.

  “We talked about Mathilde and crossed her off our list. We talked about Josh, Rue’s son, and we talked about Hank and the fact that Rue and Hank seemed to be together or something,” Cora said.

  “The police are still rounding up suspects,” Tom said. “They are going to ask you to identify them.”

  “I can do that,” Cora said. “I know they were in my room. I recognized their voices.”

  “Who was it?” Tom asked.

  “Rue and Hank,” Cora replied.

  “What?” Jane squealed and clutched her chest. “I can’t believe it!”

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to call this in.”

  Cora and Jane sat quietly, letting it sink in that Rue and Hank had broken in to her room and in all likelihood had drugged her.

  “But what happens to you if you identify them?” Jane asked, after a few moments. “I don’t like this.”

  “If she says she can’t identify them, we think she’ll be safer,” Tom said. “She’s given the FBI what it needs. Right now, we are the only trusted law officers on this island.”

  “You think she’ll be safer?” Jane said.

  “But why would I not identify them to the local cops?” Cora asked. “They were in my room. They need to pay for what they’ve done. How dare they?”

  “They were in your room searching for evidence for their boss,” Tom said. “If you identify them, a number of things could happen.”

  “They could off you for knowing too much,” Jane said, with her eyes wide.

  “C’mon. How is that knowing too much?” Cora said. “I don’t know who their boss is. I don’t know anything. I know they broke into my room.”

  “How did they manage it?” Jane said, after a moment.

  “Well, Hank lives there. He may have gotten hold of a key or something,” Cora said.

  “What happens if she doesn’t identify them to the locals? How does it help the case? Or not?” Jane asked after a pause in the conversation.

  “We then would watch them to see who they contact, who they visit, and so on. They might lead us right to our guy,” Tom said.

  “I don’t think I like this,” Jane said.

  “It’s up to you what you tell the police, but I think it would be best to tell them you don’t remember anything,” Tom said, with a finality in his voice leading Cora to feel certain not to argue.

  “I don’t want to lie to the cops,” she said. “That could come back on me.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ve got you covered. We have an officer on the inside.”

  “Well, you’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Cora said.

  “We don’t want them to know how you were rescued last night either. So, you should say, once again, you don’t remember anything,” Tom said.

  Cora hated all this lying. But she had to trust someone—and this man was FBI. He had Adrian in his protection, and he had rescued her last night.

  “So this is kind of a sting?” Cora said.

  Tom laughed. “No. It’s us doing our job.”

  “So you have a guy inside the local police force, so that means you think . . .”

  “Our drug runner is a cop. But we need to make certain. It could get very messy. We’re proceeding with caution, of course,” Tom said.

  Cora marveled at his friendly ease. He seemed like a different man than the one she first met as Zooey’s assistant.

  “I’ve lost Zooey and I don’t want to lose another person,” he said. “So caution is the order of the day.”

  Cora’s head felt light and she drank more water. She felt hung over—she ached everywhere.

  “As for you,” Tom said to Jane, “we’d like you to go back and go about your business. We’ve got Cora.”

  “Oh no,” Jane said. “I’m not leaving.”

  She crossed her arms and dug in. “Nope,” she said one more time. “Cora is my best friend. I’m not leaving her alone.”

  “Then leave her with me,” came a voice from the hallway. Cashel O’Malley walked in with a swagger. “Do you need to get back?”

  “No,” Jane said.

  “How are you feeling?” Cashel asked, ignoring Tom’s presence in the room.

  “Like hell,” Cora said.

  “Cashel, this is Tom,” Jane said.

  Cashel turned to Tom. “I know who he is,” he said. “I mean, what he is. Just took a bit of digging.”

  Tom cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you think you know. . . .”

  “I’ve a friend who used to work with you, so cut the drama,” Cashel said. “I’d like to know what the FBI is doing on Sea Glass Island and what you know about my client’s whereabouts. And I want to know that now or I will expose you immediately.”

  Chapter 60

  After Cashel and Tom stopped their bickering, Jane headed back to the resort to check on Ruby and the retreat. As she headed down to the café where they were eating, Mathilde came ambling up the hallway.

  “How are you this morning?” she said. “How is Cora? The police informed me about her problem.”

  “Problem? She was drugged,” Jane said. By your ex-assistant, she wanted to add, but didn’t. No point in adding salt to Mathilde’s wound or fuel to her fire or any other cliché Jane could think of.

  “I know your students will appreciate you being here. I can’t believe the retreat is almost over,” Mathilde said. “It’s been a rough one, to say the least.”

  “Next year will be better, I’m sure,” Jane said. “This had to be a once in lifetime weird occurrence.”

  “A nightmare, if you ask me. Have they found Adrian?” Mathilde asked.

  “No,” Jane said. Lies, lies, lies. Oh, she hated the lies.

  “I’m heading to the office,” Mathilde said. “I have a few things to take care of before the party tonight.”

  Jane felt she should offer to help, but had plans to meet with some of her students. This last day of the event they had planned to spend together. It was “Retreat, Rewind, Relax Day,” where all the crafters got together and worked on their crafts, ate, drank, and so on.

  “I’m on my way to breakfast. I can help you later, if you like,” Jane said.

  “No need, dear. I’ve got it under control,” Mathilde said, and walked away.

  Jane stood there for a moment, gathering herself before moving on.

  Something fluttered along the floor. Jane picked it up. It was a receipt with Mathilde’s name and credit card number on it. Oh, brother. She turned in Mathilde’s direction and hightailed it to try to find her. She saw her at a distance. She fought the impulse to yell and broke out into a run. She saw her up ahead. And then she didn’t. What?

  What happened to her?

  Did she duck into one of the restaurants? A bathroom?

  But when Jane got to the last spot she’d seen Mathilde, there was no café, restaurant, or bathroom. Just a service door, marked EXIT, EMPLOYEES ONLY. Could she have gone through that?

  Deciding she must have, Jane cracked open the door, which led to a narrow hallway. She slipped through the door and calmed her nerves. Why was she so nervous? It was just a hallway. She had every reason to be here. Jane clutched Mathilde’s receipt, determined to deliver it safely into her hands.

  “Please,” she heard someone say in a room—or was it up ahead somewhere? “Please just take the tiara and leave us all alone!”

  It was Mathilde’s voice. Jane pressed herself against the wall.

  She reached into her bag for her phone, carefully, trying not to make any noise.

  “It’s worth lot of money,” she said. “Just take it. Please! Leave us all alone!”

  A male voice was muttering.

  Mathilde screamed.

  Jane quickly texted Cora. Mathilde in trouble. In service hallway. Turning my GPS on. Send help.

/>   Jane heard scuffling, grunting, sobbing. Her heart felt as if it would pound out of her chest. It pounded so loudly in her ears she wondered if anybody else could hear it. What should she do? Stay here?

  No. She should get out of here.

  Feet, move.

  But they stayed planted.

  Feet, move.

  Exactly like all of her nightmares.

  Danger lurked, but she froze.

  A text came through. Get out of there. Help is right there. Might be behind you now.

  Jane trembled from head to toe. But she couldn’t move.

  What was that man doing to Mathilde? Who was he? Was he their killer?

  She felt frozen and had to will her back leg to move. Back up. One foot. Then the next.

  Reach for the door. Yes, there it is. She opened it slowly. No noise, please.

  The door opened, almost bumping into Cashel, along with Tom and several police officers.

  When she saw Cashel, she leaned into him. His arms went around her, as the officer moved forward into the hallway. Her knees weakened and the room spun. Was she going to pass out? She’d never passed out in her life. She was a tough girl from the South Side of Pittsburgh.

  But Cashel’s arms felt warm, strong, and comfortable. The room spun, but Cashel held her firm.

  Chapter 61

  Cora slipped her shoes on. Finally they were letting her out of this hospital. She intended to make the party tonight. And Adrian would be on her arm. Cashel would be on Jane’s.

  “We’re friends, so don’t get any ideas,” Jane had said to Cora earlier, after she relayed what had happened to her.

  Mathilde was going to be all right, but she would not be at the retreat party. She was not in any condition to party. Detective Andrews had been in the process of strangling her when the police found them. She was barely alive.

  “I’m confused,” Cora said, standing up and gathering her belongings. “Did Detective Andrews kill Marcy and Zooey?”

  “No,” Adrian said. “He ordered people to do it.”

  “People?”

  “Hank,” he said.

  “Hank? Hank killed them both?”

  Adrian nodded.

  “But why? I don’t understand.”

  “Hank had been dealing for him for quite some time. And Marcy, well, she owed them a lot of money.”